


Orange Colored Sky

by memai



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Chapter count subject to change, F/M, Film Noir tropes, Gen, Implied Child Death, M/M, Maybe I'll update this later who knows, Multi, OT3 happening later, Older Characters, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24993742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memai/pseuds/memai
Summary: Those memories aren’t his, but they’re all he’s got. As Nick Valentine sets out to seek justice 200 years later, he can’t help but reminisce on an old flame. When a new romance grows in his synthetic heart, will Nick dare to pursue a new future, or condemn himself to the past?An exploration of who Jennifer Lands really, truly was, from the computerized lenses of our favorite synth detective.(Rated Mature for mature themes and graphic imagery)
Relationships: Jennifer Lands/Nick Valentine, Nick Valentine/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 23





	1. Pancakes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Andy (for graciously lending me their vision of Jennifer, and some speech tips), Jack (for characterization tips) as well as Glow and Alexander for their tremendous support and encouragement!

* * *

* * *

There was no easy way to do this.

Nick stewed in his memories for a good long while, staring at how the rain blurred the sunset’s last rays on the cracked pavements that lined Sanctuary. Settlers rushed into their shacks and the refurbished houses-- turned to stores and services for the people making their living here.

He inhaled on that dying cigarette, finally stomping it out as he exhaled one last puff. It never did anything, the little sticks of cancer. But he liked the ritual of it. Helped him seem... more human.

More like the old Nick Valentine.

He didn’t know if it was a fault in his code or a failing subroutine, but the memories of a life that didn’t belong to him began playing on loop. It was amusing at first, seeing the antics human Nick had gotten into… but lately, they’ve all been melancholic. Bittersweet. All drama and high stakes, like some damned movie.

It was always the same.

Eddie Winters’ face plastered all over the news, acquitted of his crimes, played the informant. All long paragraphs and polished pictures. And right underneath, with the insufferable dignity of just one lousy paragraph, read: “Jennifer Lands, 55, found dead near Andrews Station. Police believe her to be the victim of a robbery.”

‘Robbery’. Bah! The nerve! Jenny was shot down by Winters’ boys. He knew it, the whole force knew it, but when corruption ran that deep, who was going to tell the truth?

The anger that boiled up in the center of his circuits was an uncomfortable one, a powerless one. He wanted to do something… but what. What could he even do? It’s been 200 years since that poor woman died for just, what? Being a person? Being… Being Nick’s fiancee?

God. The thought of it all. Just living your life, hoping your lover will be home soon. Only to be struck dead while running an errand.

He sat in the corner of what was once the porch of a home in pre-war Sanctuary, eyes glowing eerily in the rain, watching as folks laughed together over a meal in the next house over. Something stirred in him then, the smell of… something sweet? Not that he would know what that _felt_ like, but he _remembered_.

Why did it seem so familiar?

“Hey, Nick?”

Over the crackling of rain hitting the pavement, Nick looked up and smiled. He knew that voice anywhere; the Minutemen General herself, Miss Parker Kim.

“Somethin’ I can do for ya?”

She gestured to her Pip-Boy, “Someone needs help, a kidnapping, you’re just the man for the job.”

No fooling around now. He readied his gun, adjusted his hat and pulled that trenchcoat a little tighter. They would be braving the rain, after all.

“I’m right with ya.”

They waved their goodbyes to their companions, heading down the street and over the bridge, off to their next adventure. Nick hoped they’d get there in time.

* * *

_Chicago was famously dubbed the windy city. For all the bravado it lent to its people, it did nothing for the rain sweeping in. Cold, strong, fast, and unpleasant all around. Detective Nick Valentine almost lost his favorite hat as he rounded the corner.  
_

_“Just walk the block, Valentine,” he mocked under his breath, “It’s no big deal, my foot.” Too far to get to the car now, not with the rain beating down the way it did. He sought shelter at a familiar diner frequented by the other boys in the force, the only place he could go to get out from the rain. Through the water and the fog, he could make the hazy neon sign out, like a beacon from heaven itself, “Jim’s Corner”.  
_

_He stepped through the door, drenched like a wet dog, and looking just as sorry. As the little bell dingled above, the other diners casually looked over their shoulders to see who came to join them. Most went back to their meals after their curiosity had been sated… all save for one waitress. Nick nodded politely at her, shaking off his wet coat and hat, hooking it at the entrance.  
_

_Pancakes and coffee and something fried with too much butter. The quintessential smell that filled diners like these, and it hung heavy in the air, coaxing Nick for a bigger meal than he wanted.  
_

_But that waitress stared daggers at him still.  
_

_And then he noticed she was staring at his badge.  
_

_Suddenly, his appetite took a dramatic exit, stage left.  
_

_“Hi there,” he took a seat at the front of the bar, and she still kept her gaze, steady as a hawk and just as piercing, before begrudgingly taking out her notepad. Her pen clicked, and she pursed her lips, something died in her cereal this morning.  
_

_But she stared at him, a gesture that lit a fire under the sorry Detective.  
_

_God, this was awkward. He tried to flash a smile, the friendliest one he could muster, but the ache in his back just… made it come out like a tired, half-hearted attempt. Some sorry soggy old man with nothing better to do.  
_

_“So uh, I’ll just have a coffee, Miss uh--” he glanced at her name tag for the briefest for moments, “Jennifer.”  
_

_She was a large woman, plump and tall, with hair that coiled tightly in airy curls that were barely held in place by a simple, but determined, elastic band. Crows’ feet and wrinkles lined a deep complexion with a gold hue, and her lips were painted a deep shade of red.  
_

_Pretty, for a woman her age. Nick didn’t have to stare too long to notice it, she just had that sort of face he would’ve seen in a movie.  
_

_She squinted at him, before sighing, “Sugar? Creamer?” And that snapped him out of his little reverie.  
_

_“Oh uh, no thank you,” he began fishing out for the bills crumpled up in his pocket, and began counting them to pay, until he was interrupted.  
_

_“Cops eat free,” the waitress, Jennifer, explained, “You want some grub to go with that?”  
_

_Nick looked out the window beside him, and saw that the city of Chicago was buried under a waterfall of a rainstorm. He was going to be stuck here for some time, wasn’t he?  
_

_“Yeah, sure, how about a stack of pancakes?”  
_

_Jennifer stopped for a minute, wrote the order down in her notepad, but couldn’t help her curiosity, “It’s almost six in the evening…”  
_

_Nick shrugged, a smile creeping across his face, “I like the pancakes here.”_

* * *

No matter how many times Nick Valentine had to do this, it was always hard to watch a crying father barely holding his words together.

Parker Kim shifted her weight in uncomfortable silence, this was a case that hit close to home, no doubt. Nick fished a cigarette from his pocket, and before lighting it up, asked, “You mind?”

“Nah, man, go ahead,” the father managed between weeps, his dignity saved for when Parker reached over and handed him a handkerchief to wipe his tears with.

The man that summoned them was a merchant-- sold odds and ends to the many travellers of the Commonwealth. He leaned on his pack brahmin for support, hugging the beast for comfort. His merc stood on duty, ever stoic, ever present, but shot up to hell and back if those red bandages and stimpak marks were anything to go by.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Nick began.

“I-I was making the rounds near Goodneighbor,” he began, “I didn’t… I didn’t know…”

“Take it easy, sir,” Parker knelt before him in the mud and muck, the rain had mostly passed, but it left the world a soggy mess, “Take your time,” just as she always did, she reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

The man nodded, “She’s only fifteen, she’s… my baby, you know?” He looked to Parker and there was no mistaking that look. Nick knew it, and he figured the Minutemen general herself knows it too.

Nick inhaled and exhaled, careful to keep the smoke out of anyone’s face, “So you were at Goodneighbor for… a supply run, I’m guessing?”

“Y-Yeah,” he nodded, his shaking hands twiddling nervously, legs bouncing with anxiousness, “We were headed out, followed the usual route, we stayed real careful, didn’t... you know, we didn’t cause any trouble for anyone.”

That’s when the man began losing control of his words again, and tears streamed down his face.

No matter how many times Nick had to do this, it never got any easier.

“I dunno where they came from, the Raiders…”

Parker’s eyebrows shot up in horror.

“They usually leave us well alone, listen, I… I just sell junk, I don’t have much, just enough for me and Lizzie to get by.”

“Lizzie,” Nick repeated, “That’s her name?” A dark memory jostled in his mind. Why did this feel so familiar?

“Y-Yeah,” the man sniffled, “Yeah…”

Nick nodded, “So you don’t think these Raiders came down to take your money then? Were they high?”

The man shook his head, “I dunno, man, I dunno. Me and Pullman over there,” he gestured to the mercenary, “We said we didn’t want any trouble, we’d give ‘em what they want if they’d leave us alone.”

Nick could feel his stomach sink, or at least, the synthetic feeling of it programmed in the computer between his ears, “And then they set their eyes on Lizzie.”

The man broke down, crying.

“We tried to fight them off, we did, we tried, we did everything they could but… but there was just so many of them, they… we couldn’t stop them from taking Lizzie…”

Parker and Nick shared a look, they knew how stories like this could end.

“I don’t… I don’t dare to hope,” he managed through labored heaving breaths, “I don’t dare to hope but please, please if you can find her…”

Parker nodded, determination as clear as the sun parting between the clouds, “We’ll find her, and we’ll bring her home, I promise.”

“I don’t have any money, I said-- I mean, I… it would mean the world to me if--”

Nick smiled at him then, comforting more than anything, “You don’t have to pay us, we’ll bring Lizzie home.”

The man was a sorry sight to see, face red and raw from the tears he spilled, hands and knees scraped and muddy, but for just a moment, there was a flicker of hope behind those tired, downturned eyes.

* * *

_The pancakes had to wait._

_As Nick Valentine made his way through the stack of sweet, buttery goodness, he got the call. A body was found, an end to a case that the force had figured would have gone cold by now._

_“Hey uh, Miss Jennifer?” he asked over the chatter of the diner’s crowds, “Mind if you can pack this to-go? I’ll be back for it.”_

_The waitress gave him a once over, before letting out a bark of a laugh, “Well you better, ‘cause if you’re not here before my shift ends, I’m taking these boys home with me.”_

_He smiled at that, “Sure thing.”_

_But for now, he had a job to do. He pulled his coat over his shoulders and held his hat tightly in his hand. There was never a day that went by that he didn’t hear about some horrifying news, and today, it seemed as though the skies grew a little darker._

_He raced through the city, past through checkpoints and busy districts, the siren on his car blaring loudly through the streets as he raced to the next disaster. And it seemed that even as the world was ending, he was still kept a busy man with crooks hard at work._

_His destination was a condemned apartment building. Long forgotten even before the protests hit the streets. A sorry stain on what was once a quaint neighborhood._

_Nick Valentine practically leapt out of the car as he pushed past curious onlookers and on-duty officers. “Detective Valentine, sir,” a rookie held up the tape for him to pass through, “The others are upstairs, third floor, first room on the left.”_

_He gave a thankful nod to the lad and made his way up._

_And… there it was. The horror of humanity._

_A girl, no older than fifteen, lay dead. Cold and forgotten, and brutalized. There was no mistaking the marks on her neck and wrists, the blood that stained her dress. Nick’s heart sank at the sight. This was someone’s baby, someone’s child. America’s hopes and dreams lived on in girls like her… and all this lousy city could give her was this nightmare of an ending._

_“Oh god,” he whispered under his breath, “The poor thing.”_

_The other officers droned on about the case as they walked up to him with updates-- four weeks ago, the guardians of a young Elizabeth ‘Lizzie’ Joyce called to report that she had not returned home from school. She needed medication for an ongoing condition. And though they tried to search for her themselves, could not find her and feared she may have been taken. A series of kidnappings had been happening in the neighborhood, but so far, not a trace of the perps had been found. It was as though they had vanished into thin air, leaving everyone to question what happened to the young Lizzie._

_Until today._

_Nick Valentine knew better than to take it personally. When one faces the worst humanity had to offer on a near daily basis, one couldn’t possibly take every case to heart. But this hit him differently. Children always did, especially when their lives ended so brutally._

_He knelt down beside the body, forensics covering her up and marking the room with numbered cards. Evidence was picked one by one, and the flash of a camera went off in the corner._

_Nick sighed a deep, heartbroken sigh._

_He had to do her justice, and with renewed faith, Nick barked his orders at the other officers: “Keep searching, I want these sickos brought in to answer for this. Follow up with every lead, you hear me?”_

_Nick would have to make the call to her guardians tonight. He couldn’t bring her home, couldn’t do her the justice she needed. But at the very least, he could help her spirit rest. The world of a detective was never a glamorous one, damn what Hollywood showed on the silver screens. There was never a beautiful dame who haunted his gin joints, there was never exciting danger and conniving villains outplaying him until they got too cocky._

_No._

_All it ever came down to was him having to come face to face with the cruel death of a young girl who wouldn’t have known any better._

_“Sir?” one of the officers tapped him on the shoulder, “Detective Valentine, are you alright?”  
_

_He hadn’t realized he had been crying.  
_

_“Damnit--” he wiped his face with the corner of his sleeves, “Sure, sure, I’m alright, kid just… it never gets easier, you know?”_

* * *

Two on the bridge, three more patrolling the streets, but inside that building, a whole party of goons in bad leather get-ups were up to no good.

Parker was no combatant, and while Nick himself was a decent shot, it was by the merest chance they had bumped into one Paladin Anderson.

“So let me get this straight,” her voice was low and quiet, “You know for a fact she’s in there?”

“Positive,” Parker whispered back.

“And I thought this ol’ pussycat wouldn’t have anything better to do!” Anderson seemed to delight at the fact, “Alright, hang tight ladies and gents, this ol’ gal’s gonna show you how it’s done in the Brotherhood.”

And show them, she did.

Every aim she took was effortless, or so it seemed. The raiders began to fall off, one by one, deader than a doornail. The confusion and chaos only stirred amusement from the ~~attractive~~ Brotherhood Paladin they roped into helping them.

“This isn’t breaking orders? Helping us?” Nick asked, bewildered. How she managed half the shots she did, he’ll never know. He was good with a gun but this? This took training and skill.

~~That made her dangerous. Which made her attractive.~~

“Nah, if anything,” another shot, just as flawless as the last, “This is some pretty decent live fire training.”

Parker blanched at that, “Those… are people?”

Another shot rang through the narrow street, and in retaliation, more raiders poured out of the building, brandishing guns far bigger than anything Nick’s seen, “After what you told me? Hell no, _people_ don’t do what they did.”

Paladin Anderson looked down her scope, and smirked, “So they got ol’ Lizzie out as a meat shield-- figures,” she sounded bored at the last word, “How much you wanna bet I can get that rat fink between the eyes?”

Parker looked horrified, “What if you shoot the girl?”

Nick chimed in, “Let’s not be reckless…”

But just as the synth detective let the last word slip, Paladin Anderson pulled the trigger, and sure enough, the bastard went down faster than a bag of bricks. Neither Nick nor Parker could register what had happened, did she really make that shot?

Anderson was faster, and Nick suspected it was all that fancy Brotherhood training under her belt. Just as soon as the raider fell, she swapped another rifle, and turned to them both with a plan, “Get to the girl and get her _out_ of that mess. She’s up on the roof, so it’ll be some time before the other bastards on the ground knows what’s happening.”

“What about you?” Nick asked.

“I’ll buy you some time, sweetheart, don’t worry about it,” she gave Nick a wink, and braved the fires of battle without fear or hesitation.

Parker blinked in awe, before returning to the task at hand, “C’mon Nick, let’s get Lizzie home!”

* * *

_Detective Nick Valentine returned to the diner that night._

_He pulled the handbrake to his car with a satisfied click, and slammed the door shut as he made his way back inside. He promised Jennifer he’d come back for his order, and if anything, he had hoped to make good on his word._

_Nick figured she must have left by that point. Figured she must have gone home with his half-eaten pancakes. But there she was, her curls falling out of place as she scrubbed the grease spots off the counter._

_“Hi there,” he mustered, the life in his voice gone from the crying. “Hi, I’m the detective from earlier,” he tried to manage a smile, but it came out lopsided, awkward… tired._

_Jennifer looked no better, but he could see the concern welling up in her eyes, even if she chose not to act on it._

_“You know, you were out for a while,” she said, “Those pancakes are staler than a stack of cardboard now, you sure you want them?”_

_Nick shrugged, pulling his hat off politely, “Well, I did say I’d come back for ‘em.”_

_“You did,” Jennifer stopped her task for the moment, bunching up the rag in her hand and turned around, pulling a small, white cardboard box from the small pantry behind her._

_He didn’t know if she was that slick or if he was looking more miserable than he felt, but Jennifer reached out and tapped him gently on the shoulder, “Hey, you okay?”_

_“Oh… yeah... no, I’m fine.”_

_“You don’t look fine,” she rested her hands on her hip, “Look, it’s none of my business but… what’s wrong?”_

_Nick didn’t know why he felt like talking, but with everything that had happened, in the privacy of this diner, save for a few drunks quietly snoring in a corner booth, he felt safe._

_And vulnerable._

_“Do… do you remember that case about a missing girl a few weeks back?”_

_“Which one?”_

_“The uh, the one with the girl. Lizzie Joyce.”_

_“Oh, yeah I uh, I heard,” Jennifer looked at him now, “I’m guessing you worked on that case?”_

_Nick didn’t know why, but he began sobbing. His eyes fell into the palms of his hands as his shoulders shook with impossible grief. “It’s not fair, it’s not fair…” he chanted under his breath as though that spoke of some truth deep down._

_“She was so young, it’s not fair, it’s not fair.”_

_God what a horrible thing to find out. Why did they make him call her guardians? The women came to the police station, dressed in their best, hoping to bring their little girl back. He had to hold it together while the women wailed and held each other, their baby girl lost to another senseless crime._

_To the force, she was victim #5 in a long string of cases. Her photo was placed next to the other victims, all boys and girls around her age, all beautiful bright children, the light snuffed out too soon. Too quick. Too brutal._

_God what did he--_

_“Here.”_

_He smelled it then. The salt of the butter, the sweetness of syrup, the heat of something delicious wafting up from a stained plate._

_“Pancakes?”_

_Jennifer gave him a smile. Though she had wrinkles and age spots peppered all across her face, Nick Valentine could have sworn she was the most beautiful thing in sight._

_“Well, you said you like the pancakes here,” she shrugged, “So I got old Mario to make you a quick batch before he leaves.”_

_Nick blinked in confusion._

_She shrugged, “And don’t forget: Cops eat free.”_

_“You didn’t have to do this for me, Miss Jennifer.”_

_“You’re right, I don’t,” Jennifer flashed a sympathetic smile, “But you tried to bring that little girl home, that’s more than anyone’s done for her. So, here you go: pancakes.”_

_Through his tears and the injustice of it all, Nick Valentine smiled._

_“Thank you, Jennifer.”_


	2. Smile.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the lines between memories and realities begin to blur, our intrepid detective soon learns that what he desires isn't going to come easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'd like to thank Andy for lending me their fantastic brain in helping me figure out Nick. And special shout out to Jack, Daisy, Glow and Alexander for the encouragement!
> 
> A mild warning for talks for police nonsense and violence! They're all in the 'memory' version of Nick, so feel free to skip ahead.

Little Lizzie ran like the wind. 

Lanky limbs kicked up dirt as she made a mad dash to dear, old dad who barely saw her coming round the corner. Parker, Anderson and Nick followed shortly after, three pairs of eyes looking on at the reunion. The Minutemen General of course, stepped forward, happy to see another family brought together despite being torn apart by the violent Wastelands.

“Thank you, thank you,” the man spoke in between kisses on his daughter’s forehead, “Thank you so much.”

Even the old merc from before couldn’t help but reach over and muss the poor girl’s dirty blonde hair, “Good to have ya back, kiddo!”

“Here,” the man fished around in a pack on the brahmin, and pulled out what looked to be a heavy purse of caps, “It’s what I made between our last meeting, we… we got lucky. But I’m luckier to have my baby girl home.”

But Parker was ever the saint, Nick noted, and pushed the offer back gently, “I appreciate what you’re offering,” she smiled, “But I’m just glad you got to see your daughter again, no payment necessary.”

“But you must have gone through so much trouble, please, it’s the least we can do.”

“I insist-- I lost my own child, a son, and I’m still looking for him… I know what that must feel like,” Parker explained, but despite the heaviness that would come from such a confession, she beamed with hope all the same, “And I wasn’t alone, I had friends to help.”

Nick let Parker have her moment, and he turned to Paladin Anderson. She was a statuesque woman, tall and athletically built, with a rich olive complexion, complemented with a gentle dusting of freckles and beauty marks all over. With the way her Brotherhood uniform hugged her curves, Nick Valentine imagined she could fill out just about any dress on offer, and would still be the most standout woman in the room.

Throughout his journeys he had met beautiful women, but Ean Anderson was one that looked as though she stepped right out of a movie and into the arms of the Commonwealth.

“So,” Nick began, realizing that he had been staring, “I can’t imagine you’ll be trailing along behind us after this. The uh, the orange is a little obvious, isn’t it?”

Anderson laughed at the joke, dark, heavily lashed eyes twinkling with a kind of mischief only a woman like her could possess. “Oh, Valentine, it’s not like I’d pick this out myself,” she pinched at the fabric, “I’d want something a little more sleek, and a little more sparkly. What d’ya think?”

“What can I say, Anderson? You look like you could wear nothing but a garbage bag and still knock ‘em right out of the park.”

“Don’t give me ideas, the night’s still young,” she pulled out a pristine pack of cigarettes, tapping the box on the palm of her hand before sliding a thin stick between her lips.

“Here, lemme get that for ya,” Nick offered a lighter, and watched as the embers came to life.

She turned away and blew a preliminary puff downwind.

“You always got a light ready for a lady?”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared, besides,” he fished out a pack himself, “Seems like a good idea on a night like this.”

“You know that’s got me thinkin’, Valentine, do you _actually_ feel cold?”

“Don’t make me think too hard, I haven’t run diagnostics in a couple weeks,” he took a puff himself, “You’ll make an old man pop a tube or something.”

“Old man, huh?”

“Well, the man whose personality is programmed into me was old.”

“How old?” She asked, curious, nursing the stick in between her fingers.

“By my count? Late fifties? Early sixties maybe?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“Nick Valentine, the human, got _real_ tired of birthdays.”

Anderson laughed, and Nick couldn’t help but return the ~~affection~~ smile, “I can relate to that, did you know I’m almost forty?”

“Aw, well that ain’t nothing,” he smiled at her, not at all stopping himself from flirting right back, “You don’t look a day over twenty.”

_‘You don’t look a day over twenty, sweetheart.’_

Oh. God. Why did that feel familiar? Where had Nick heard that line? Had he said it? Was it a line someone else had said to him? Wait, why would someone say that to him? Was it from a movie? Nick tried to think, scouring the minds of the human detective from a life long bombed out of existence. 

He didn’t notice Anderson had reached out and began playing with his lapels, “Hey, Valentine?”

He blinked back into realization, flustered at how he found himself, her hands _touching him_. ~~Why did he want more? Why was he feeling this way?~~

“S-Sorry, I uh, something just… ran. A program, a program ran.”

“Oh? That for real or was that an excuse for staring?”

Staring? Oh god. “Oh, no, no no! I didn’t mean--”

“Relax, detective, if I were you, I’d be staring too.”

“I--”

“Good to see _you two_ getting along-- I thought Brotherhood soldiers didn’t like synths?” Thank god for Parker and her near omnipresent sense for timing.

Anderson pulled a face that screamed mock offense, “I’m only just safeguarding what’s right and true by decree of our Codex! I was secretly trying to get this heap of scrap to follow me to the incinerator!”

“Awful uh, cavalier of you, Anderson,” Nick remarked.

“Oh, please, I grew too much of a personality to fall in line to ‘Sir, yes, sir’s outside of a commanding officer,” she smiled, “Who do you take me for? Paladin Danse?”

Parker and Nick barely stifled their laughter, but it seemed Paladin Anderson didn’t seem all too bothered by it. “I have to know,” the General spoke, “Why don’t you care?”

“Yeah, spill it,” Nick pushed, “What’s got a soldier like you suiting up in Power Armor and laser rifles but cracking jokes like you didn’t just march in with a giant war machine?”

And then, a clever ~~sultry~~ little smile crept across Paladin Anderson’s full lips, “Surely the both of you must know the old pre-war saying: What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

As if on cue, the sound of vertibird blades cut through the night sky. Parker and Nick looked up and sure enough, there was the damnedable emblem of the Brotherhood, pretty and painted for the entire world to see.

“Looks like my ride’s here,” Paladin Anderson gave a salute, “See you two around, hey? Especially _you,_ Valentine.”

They watched as she walked over to, and boarded the vertibird. Other Brotherhood soldiers helping her up and debriefing her on the next assignment. A few junior members (Initiates, were they?) helped carry her guns and equipment.

“You know, Nick,” Parker began as they watched the metal contraption fly away into the night, no doubt taking their friend back to the Prydwyn, “I think she likes you.”

“Nah, I don’t think so, she’s… just being friendly,” he let out a little self-deprecating laugh, “Most younger women do that a lot, it’s just… it’s just some fun. She didn’t mean anything by it.”

Parker knew better, or so Nick thought, judging by the clever smile and that twinkle in her eyes.

“Sure Nick, whatever you say.”

* * *

_Detective Nick Valentine did not believe in miracles._

_But the world had a funny way of working itself out. And sometimes in the strangest ways possible._

_It had started like any other morning. Nick strolled up to the office, placed his bag and his hat down at his desk and began mowing down the mountain of paperwork that had grown overnight._

_The tip-tapping on his terminal entry was punctuated by a few well-meaning smacks upside the machine. “C’mon work, damnit,” he muttered, “Sorry, buddy, it’s been a tough morning,” and just like that, the terminal hummed along, all errors shaken off the green monochrome screen._

_Just as he was getting into the groove of what looked like a very boring, very rainy Thursday, the Chief himself walked in, followed by… two very green beat cops… and a very sorry looking man in handcuffs._

_Nick didn’t need to be told what to do, he followed the group, wordlessly, into the bowels of the police station where the interrogation rooms were hidden away._

_The suspect was Teddy Malone-- initially dismissed as Lizzie Joyce’s killer, but new evidence had turned up, and eyewitnesses had come forward corroborating the story the detectives had been piecing together._

_The man had been taken in over a parking ticket of all things. The two newbies were writing him up for a sloppy job by parking in front of a hydrant, and it was only because he chose to argue with them, that they recognized him._

_His mistake, and Valentine’s win._

_But now a new problem arose: They had the time and the place, but what’s the motive?_

_Not that it would ever matter. Families of the victims found little comfort when he would update the case with things like motives and reasoning. “I just want them dead,” was the one sentiment he heard the most. It never brought them home, but for some, it was closure, or some kind of reasoning._

_But whatever the case, it was a motive that still needed to be put on the record. And besides, Nick was a little curious. None of the children that had been killed were connected in any obvious way. They didn’t go to the same schools, some even came from completely different neighborhoods-- for a while, victims #2 and #4 were thought to be part of an unrelated case altogether, until Lizzie Joyce pinned the final nail in the coffin._

_And yet here the man sat, chained to a table, completely unbothered, or so it would seem._

_Nick Valentine took his seat in front of him, clasping his weathered hands together, and looking at the man straight in the eye._

_“So why’d you kill them?”_

_“This isn’t about the parking ticket?”_

_Nick sighed through his nose, and shook his head, “We both know why you’re here.”_

_The man played dumb, his mottled, scarred skin looking far worse under the harsh lamp._

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

_Nick pulled out a file, and placed photos of the victims in a neat order before the suspect._

_“So talk, while you’ve still got teeth to talk with.”_

_Teddy grinned a monstrous grin, and it was then Nick Valentine knew those dark beady eyes of his carried no soul._

_“Why not? I get to be on TV after this, won’t I? Name’s in the paper,” the man laughed to himself, “My daddy said I’d never do anything in life worth shouting about-- now look at me.”_

_Nick was about ready to throttle the man with his own bare hands, but he kept his cool, anger barely veiled under the illusion of control._

_“What do you want me to say, detective?” The man leaned forward on the table, almost as if to challenge the detective, “You think anything I say here matters? You’re just going to throw me into the slammer and that’ll be it, won’t it?” And then a smug little chuckle to himself, “Maybe I’ll even be let out for good behavior!”_

_“Easier crimes to commit if you’re just looking for a fast track into a jail cell, bucko.”_

_“Yeah, but something about kids, you know?” the suspect smiled as if reliving a memory, pleased as a hunter devouring its prey, “And that last girl? I could’a done much worse… I was tempte--”_

_An admission of the crime. The captain barely got a word in to let the case finally be closed when the detective leapt to action, justice delivered with his own bare hands._

_No one saw it, and most were surprised Nick could still move that fast at the prime of fifty-nine years. For a man who complained that coffee after six gave him headaches, he was as limber as a greased cat when he had his fists buried into the face of Teddy Malone._

_It took two officers to pull Nick off Malone, who he cussed at him in every way he knew in every language he could speak._

_“You sick bastard,” the detective yelled as he was pulled away, “God, you’re lucky I didn’t find you alone, you pray tonight, boyo, because I am coming for you, you hear me? ”_

_Disciplinary action was worth the trouble it took to knock the teeth out of that slimy bastard. He saw how the suspect cried helplessly, blood streaming down his chin and staining the old shirt he wore._

_The worst part of it all? If he had seen this man walking down the street, he wouldn’t have thought anything of him, just an everyday man doing his everyday things. God, he hated it. Villains in movies were so clearly coded-- evil conniving moustache twirlers who proclaimed every awful dead they’d do at the drop of a hat. They’d wear all black and skulk around the shadows._

_But this?_

_He hoped that those kids could rest easy now. It wasn’t the justice he wanted to give them, but he hoped that they knew. That he did what he could, when he could._

_“One more time, Nick, you pull another stunt like this, and you can call in for an early retirement.”_

_Nick didn’t give the captain the satisfaction of an answer. All he asked was to be dismissed for the day, “Before you get the chance to put me in a chokehold again.” A statement emphasized by him rubbing where the beat cops had laid their hands on him, his skin pulling with the gesture._

_“You rough up our suspects and it’s going to be_ **_more_ ** _than that, Valentine. Get out of here, before I finally figure out what I want to do to you.”_

_Anger bubbled in his gut uncontrollably. To think that someone like that… God, he couldn’t bear the thought. He swept his files into his briefcase and marched down to his car. He’ll just file these reports at home, like a sensible detective._

_But that angry, gut-wrenching feeling soon made it’s way for something more visceral, and more immediate._

_Hunger._

_Jim’s Place. Pancakes. Jennifer._ _The drive would take longer than it would for him to go straight home. But as the engine roared to life and echoed through the busy Chicago streets, he knew it’d be worth_ _seeing Jennifer_ _having those pancakes again._

* * *

The neons of Goodneighbor gave the entire settlement a sickly, pink hue. Unnatural, alien and strange, much like the denizens who called it home. Ghouls who were kicked out from Diamond City, former Raiders looking to atone for a life of wild partying with every more wild partying. Others, like Daisy, were folks who just didn’t know where else to go and didn’t want to leave-- it was hard enough to change two-hundred-year-old habits after all, imagine changing addresses.

But the grime and seediness of it all made Valentine feel right at home. Like he was some detective in a movie, come to meet some seductress in a plush, cigar-smoke filled gentlemen’s club. They’d use code words and phrases, where something like, “The queasy crow flies at midnight,” would mean something dangerous and exciting, and not… awkward.

It sounded better in his head, anyway. And before he could lose himself in another daydream, just mere inches from his last pair of good shoes, a ghoul fell over and threw up, his two friends laughing up a storm not far behind.

Parker scrunched her nose in disgust and side-stepped around the mess, and Nick did the same.

It was the same routine, here in Goodneighbor. Someone throws up their last greasy dinner after a night of drinking, and him and Parker would make their way down to the bar to wind down.

The Third Rail was like most bars in the wastelands; a mean bartender, too few seats, and always with the damp smell of mildew and rot that hung in the air. But what made the Third Rail so much more special was the reason why the pair sat down in their usual corner.

The lights dimmed, and even Whitechapel Charlie held his robotic tongue from any witticisms. The spotlight came to life, and in a red, sparkly number, came the slinky body of none other than Magnolia herself.

“How’s everyone doing this fine evening?” Her voice practically purred into the ears of all who listened, like some siren song, “I see we even have some special guests tonight,” Magnolia gave a salute, “Why don’t we play something that’ll suit our General and Detective friends tonight, mm?”

If he had human cheeks, Nick Valentine would’ve blushed a bright red. 

Magnolia settled into a song, a new number, one she wrote; how the bombs that broke the world felt like how falling in love does. Heavy metaphor, but Valentine loved the melody, loved her voice. If the Institute spent just two more minutes on his garbage heap of a body, he would’ve liked to have the hardware to record her music.

“You ever listen to a live show like this?” Valentine asked, leaning over to Parker, who happily took the complimentary bottles of beer for them both-- paid to have friends in high places, “Back in the day?”

Parker frowned, struggling with her cap, “I don’t remember.”

“Here,” Nick took the bottle from her hand and popped the cap off, careful to keep its shape, and value, “You uh, still don’t have your memories all back?”

“It’s strange, it just… feels like it stopped there. And everything just… I don’t know. Maybe I just need more time?”

“Don’t force it,” Nick smiled, “I’m sure you’ll start remembering soon enough.”

“I don’t even remember being pregnant with Shaun,” it was like a guilty admission, like everything she had done meant nothing. All because she couldn’t remember life before the bombs.

He heard it then, the quiver in her voice, the fear in her words. Nick reached over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, “Hey, when this is all over, when we find your son, maybe we can talk to Dr. Amari, maybe she can help.”

“You think so?”

“Hey, she’s got the know-how, maybe it just needs a little kickstarting,” and here, Nick tapped on his own temple, “You rooted around in here to get to your boy, things will work out in the end.”

“I hope so,” Parker settled into her seat, an uneasy feeling making way for one of comfort, “But hey, at least the music’s nice.”

Nick smiled, “Sure is.”

Maybe his optics had failed then, maybe the terminal in his head needed another defrag, but he could have sworn from the corner of his eye, was a tall, large woman slinking her way through the darkness, to the back rooms of the Third Rail.

“Jennifer?” Nick whispered in awe, in shock.

“Hey, Nick? You okay?”

He sensed Parker’s hand on him, the furrow of her brows a worried one.

“Oh I uh…” How would he even begin to explain this? “I uh, I think I need to run some diagnostics, mind keeping an eye out for me?”

“Sure thing, Nick,” the last thing he saw before the static was Parker gently taking away his bottle and gently resting his head on her shoulders.

* * *

_The diner was busy, as always. It seemed as though a never-ending flow of people made their way through Jim’s Place, never content to leave it empty._

_What was the saying? Nature abhors a vacuum?_

_Detective Nick Valentine made his way to the counter of the diner, plopping himself on the barstool and kicking his suitcase under his feet._

_“Oh, you’re back.”_

_Nick couldn’t help the wide smile on his face; Jennifer was a lovely woman, and that she greeted him with her own clever little smirk just made a terrible morning into a fantastic afternoon._

_He tipped his hat before pulling off, “Afternoon Jennifer,” but the smile faded as he realized, “Didn’t… you work late last night?”_

_She shrugged, “What’s three hours of sleep? Anyway, what can I get’cha?”_

_That made something sit uncomfortably in him, but he chose not to press it any further-- it wasn’t any business of his. “Well, I did say I liked the pancak--”_

_“Mario! Stack’a pancakes, on the double mister,” Jennifer hollered to the kitchen staff from where she stood, and then returned to her sweet-as-honey waitressing voice, “Want coffee with that?”_

_What a woman!_

_“Sure, I’ll take a coffee-- just plain black will do.”_

_“Alrighty, coming right--” just then the bell to the diner entrance rang, and something strange happened._

_Jennifer’s eyes fell downwards to a spot on the counter, and she grew quiet. So did the rest of the diner, as a matter of fact. Her dark eyes glanced up quickly, like she had seen the devil himself and prayed he didn’t see her._

_Nick followed her gaze. He expected ruffians, tough looking biker gangs rolling up to the curb. But no, all he saw were a group of loud cops, the blues of their uniform all anyone could ever see. Some diners nervously went back to their sandwiches and fries, others hid behind the articles of Holly Hawthorne’s latest scandal in the newspaper. Some, like Jennifer, kept their eyes square on the ground._

_“Hey lady!” One of the boys bellowed, startling Nick out of his seat almost, “C’mon, whadda we gotta do to get some service around here, huh?”_

_“Sorry, hoss,” Jennifer drawled, “Be right with you.”_

_Curiously, she never took her eyes off that spot on the counter. She collected a few brave breaths, steeling herself. She took a notepad and a stack of menus, ready to head over to the booth filled with rowdy officers, drunk off their latest arrests, if their hooterin’ and hollerin’ was anything to go by._

_“Did’ja see that idiot with the sign? Came crashing right down, big fella!” one boasted._

_“I got one better: You know that tip we got about the guys in 10th Street? Caught ‘em. Got ten of ‘em in me and Lockwoods’ car. Count ‘em, boys, ten!”_

_Bragging about arrests. Great. Nick kept a steely gaze on the situation, there was no way a group like this was going to keep their mouths shut for long, not without upsetting someone, not without turning what should be a regular afternoon into a tragic one._

_The more they talked, the more people hid._

_It almost made Nick spit._

_“Cops eat free huh?” One of the officers read the sign aloud, good to see he got basic grammar down, “Gimme one of everything, that’ll show those assholes with the picket signs to shut the fuck up about the food,” that made the boys roar with laughter._

_“That’s it!” Nick slammed his fist on the table, bringing the whole diner’s attention onto him, “You knock that off right now, you ought’a be ashamed talking that way to a civilian.”_

_“Who the fuck are you?” One of the boys threatened. He saw the way he moved his hands to his hip, readying a baton._

_“Your superior, dimwit,” Nick pulled his coat aside to reveal the gleam of a detective’s badge, and the embarrassment of the boys that had come in._

_“Holy shit, that’s Valentine.”_

_“Wait,_ **_the_ ** _Detective Valentine?”_

_“Sir…”_

_Nick’s brows buried themselves in anger._

_“Hey, Detective, we didn’t mean anything by it!”_

_“Detective Valentine, sir, if you saw those p--”_

_“Enough!” Nick walked over to the booth, anger building up in all five-foot-six of him, “I hear one more off-color jackassery comin’ out of any of your mouths, I’m gonna be asking for badge numbers, ya hear?”_

_One breath, then two, Nick looked around and saw all eyes were on him. He nodded, “Carry on.”_

_He shot a worried glance at Jennifer, who only looked down and away. Fear? Oh. Oh he hadn’t meant-- He had to do something._

_He took his seat again and in gentle, hushed tones, reassured her, “If any’a these jackasses give you any guff, you let me know, okay?” A gentle smile, one that reached his eyes and pulled all his wrinkles with him._

_Jennifer returned it with one of her own, and he could’ve sworn he saw sunshine and butterflies floating all around those wonderfully dark eyes of hers._

_“Thanks, Detective.”_

_“Hey, call me Nick.”_

_Jennifer let out a little laugh, sweet as the day was bright, “Sure thing, Nick.”_

_There had been a lot of bad in the world he lived in, and there were plenty of injustices both great and small. The monkeys in the blue suits behind him, who had since made an embarrassed exit, were one such example._

_But as long as he could stand up for folks like Jennifer… maybe there was hope yet._

_Maybe things would get better._

_Right?_

* * *

The world came back to him in a static of color and sound. Magnolia took her final bow for the night, promising to be back after a quick break. The drinkers and drunks clapped and cheered, toasting their broken glasses high in the air as they chanted her name.

Nick Valentine peeled himself away from the soft, round shoulders of General Parker Kim.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” she beamed, “Everything okay?”

But Nick couldn’t even manage a smile.

“Nick, are you alright?”

He sighed, “I uh, diagnostics didn’t help.”

Parker placed a hand over her heart, “Nick, do you need help? Is there anything I can do?”

She was sweet to help, she really was. But… god, how could he start explaining?

Just then he noticed that same tall woman nursing a bottle of something in her hands, and clutching a crumpled folder in the other. His optics flashed to an image of Jennifer, but this woman was… different?

“Hey uh, mind excusing me for a minute? I need to talk to someone.”

“Sure, Nick, need me to come along?”

“Nah, I’ll be okay. Just uh, just need to check on something.”

As the detective made his way through the hazy bar, now filled with the sound of glasses clinking and drunkards laughing, he realized why the woman had seemed so familiar. He practically smiled when he said her name, his gaze meeting hers as he approached the lonely corner she hid herself in.

“Paladin Anderson.”

She returned the affectionate smile, “Hello, Detective, figured I’d find you in a joint like this.”

“What’s uh…” he glanced up and down at her figure, “What’s with the getup?”

A Paladin she did not appear to be. She was dressed in a sensible pair of boots, with a clean, sensible outfit to match. But the checkered blazer was fashionably gaudy, and her hair was curled impeccably. The rouge on her lips and the ink on her lashes made her look like some pre-war celebrity.

Anderson laughed, “I’m off-duty.”

“Last I saw you, you were joining the mile high club with the boys in battle armor, didn’t think I’d find you in a place like Goodneighbor.”

“Well, not to brag, Valentine, but by the time I filed my report and got the curlers out of my hair, I figured I had time to attend to… personal business.”

He noticed the way her eyes flicked to the folder in her arms, “Something concerning the Brotherhood?”

“Not in a million years,” she scoffed, “Was looking into news about an old friend.”

“Pretty upfront about that information, thought you Brotherhood types were all secretive and sirs-yes-sirs.”

“Oh Valentine,” Anderson grinned a full grin, full lips revealing a set of perfectly straight white teeth. Talk about a Hollywood smile, “I told you before: I stayed too long in Vegas to ditch whatever personality I got going. More fun that way, I figure.”

“This old friend of yours from Vegas?”

She nodded in response, “Got some troubling news.”

“Anything me or Parker can help with?”

“Nothing I want to trouble anyone else with. I got a lead, I got some information, I just… need to figure out what to do with it now,” Anderson pulled the folder closer to her, protectively, “Listen, not trying to blow off any help, I really appreciate it, s’real sweet of you, Nick.”

He felt his circuits melt at the sound of her saying his name, all warm and tender. God what was happening? ~~What was he getting himself into?~~

“I just need to handle this on my own, right now.”

“Sure, sure, not a problem,” he let silence fall between them for a minute or two, the both of them watching the crowd aimlessly.

He wanted to say something, lest the silence turned awkward, “Do you like jazz?”

“I…” she laughed, “What?”

“I said: Do you like jazz music? Magnolia here plays a fine set nearly every night.”

“Oh, I love jazz!”

~~Why? Why did he love it when she said that?~~

“I used to,” she held back a laugh behind a smile, “I used to perform as a showgirl in Vegas, you know.”

“No kidding, they’re still doing that?”

“Yeah! They uh, they made me the primadonna, meant that I had to be the one who showed up first, make sure the layabouts had their eyes on me the entire time.”

Nick could envision it through _Nick’s_ old memories. Gals with legs a mile long smiling and dancing impossibly with bedazzled outfits that would blind a man. All twirls and big band numbers, glamorous as it was arousing.

~~He would’ve killed to see her in action.~~

“So I take it you’re a pretty good dancer?” Nick couldn’t help but flirt.

Anderson gave as good as she got, though, “I am, and that’s no brag, Valentine.” She closed the distance between them, her body against his, and a long leg in between his own pair. Oh, she’s good, “You and me ought’a meet on the dance floor, and I’ll show you the _real_ meaning of ‘C’mon snake, let’s rattle.’”

He could’ve sworn he felt a circuit break somewhere in his internal systems.

“Well, I guess I’m just gonna have to hold you to your word, Miss Anderson, don’t keep me waiting.”

“I won’t…” but she looked around at the thinning crowd and there was a fleeting expression of disappointment that flashed across her face, before returning to the charming one, “I hate to be a Cinderella about this, Valentine, but I’ve got to go.”

“Mind if I walk you out?” He offered his good arm for her to take.

And happily, she linked hers with his, “That’s awful sweet of you, Valentine, keep that up, and a girl might start fallin’ for you.”

“I’ll be sure to catch you, Miss Anderson, don’t you worry, I’m a perfect gentleman.”

“I bet you are.”

Nick Valentine didn’t dare hope past playful flirting. It was all a game, wasn’t it? Younger women (and men, come to think of it) often did the same. Some petting here, touches there, some were even so bold as to kiss him. All a game, just harmless adult fun that never went anywhere.

Besides, she was Brotherhood. No matter what she said… well, she must have believed some of that crock to stay for so long?

But he’ll take what he could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoy the story, please feel free to leave a kudos, or comment! What was your favorite part in today's update?


	3. Date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize for keeping this project eh... sort of tucked away. I haven't had the best headspace for Fallout, but I Glow and Alexander have been fast friends through it all, and seeing as they love this story, I couldn't leave it unfinished.
> 
> I'll try to develop more of the story when I can start feeling better about the fandom again. But with all that being said and done, I think this is a somber enough tone to end on... for now. Let me know if I should continue!

It seemed to rain more often in Sanctuary. Streams of water poured through the holes of old, leaky roofs and into small, yet determined buckets. Settlers pooled around fires and radios, nursing hot bowls of their dinner as they listened to tapes of old serials. The next house over, someone found a guitar and sang (badly) to a Bing Crosby number, and a round of cheers waved through the slick, wet streets of that ruined neighborhood.

And as much as Marcy Long complained, Nick Valentine was happy that these people felt safe enough to revel over simple joys. Safe, warm and dry.

It was more than what most folks in the Commonwealth could hope for. And it was all thanks to the woman focusing on a series of letters she had received.

Valentine mimicked a sigh, and made his way over to her. She had been listening to a tape, or cipher of some kind. A stack of encoded letters made their way to her table under the cover of night, and within it, some promise of help or a lead to the Commonwealth’s boogeyman.

It would be an understatement to say that Piper Wright did not delight at the opportunity to prod about such a find.

“Working hard or hardly working?” Nick asked.

Parker flashed a kind smile at him, but there was no hiding the exhaustion in her eyes, “Sorry, I know I said I’d be right over, but--” and here, she stifled a yawn, “--It looks like those Railroad fellas finally got back to us.”

Nick’s eyes shot wide with delighted surprise, “No kiddin’?”

Parker shook her head, “It’s all encrypted and stuff, but it says here they’re willing to send a couple of their agents to talk to us-- maybe…”

“You think they know where Shaun is?”

The letter itself was a massive jumble of numbers and symbols, complete and utter gibberish to those who didn’t know what they were looking at. But hidden behind that nonsense was Parker’s hope of finally reuniting with her son.

“You sure about this, Parker?”

“They said so themselves,” she pointed to a line, strange as the day was long, “They’ve been tracking movements from the Institute.”

“But…”

Parker sighed, the jig was up, “There’s always a ‘but’, isn’t there?”

“What’d they ask you to do?”

“They need help, but wouldn’t say what, just that when we meet their agents… we’ll know what to do next.”

Nick made a face that showed his displeasure, “Railroad’s a secretive bunch, I didn’t even believe they existed for a good long while, myself.”

“Well, hard not to be, we did see that fantastic blimp roll up and scaring half the Commonwealth with it.”

“I’m only more sorry the fella piloting said blimp had to spend all that time growing a beard, and for it to end up looking like that.”

“Nick!”

“What?”

“Well, in any case, it’s a lead. And if it’s nothing we want to do, then we walk.”

“Not like you to turn down someone who needs help.”

Parker turned to face the letters again, and unplugged the headphone from its jack on the radio of her Pip-Boy. “I don’t think i can look at another J, but it’s really an H, or something.”

“Hey, better get some rest before you start speaking in riddles,” Nick patted her on the shoulder with his good hand, “Listen, I don’t mind helping you sneak some dinner before anyone notices.”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve been at this a while. I know… I know it’s Shaun.”

Parker looked down and away.

“But you’ve got to make sure there’s a Parker left for Shaun to come home to.”

She smiled at him then, and from her position on the old dining chair, she reached over and pulled the old synth into a hug.

“Thank you, Nick.”

“No problem, Parker.”

* * *

_The diner had been busy, as always._

_Jim’s Place either had a reputation around the Chicago streets, or the pancakes here were just that good. Not that Detective Valentine would complain, not when Jennifer worked the floors today._

_She greeted him with that too-wide grin of hers, the gap in her teeth a charming addition to an already beautiful face, “What can I get’cha today, Nick?”_

_Long gone were the formalities, they had been Nick and Jenny to each other now. Comfortable enough in each other’s presence that it didn’t seem strange at all whenever she broke out into a grin when he showed up._

_“The usual,” he said as he slid onto the barstool that had now become his. It seemed as though Jennifer saved that seat for him, just in case._

_Not that he could complain, it offered him the best view to speak to her, and to admire the grays in her hair._

_“Order up, Nick’s here, so pancakes on the double!” She looked over her shoulder, “Coffee too?”_

_“Can’t start my day without it.”_

_She pulled the pot from the hot place, the coffee still steaming as she poured it into a white mug and slid it his way._

_“Any new cases you’ve been working on, Nick?”_

_“Now you know I can’t talk about that openly, Jenny.”_

_She let out a huff, “Not even the gossip?”_

_“Gossip I can do,” Nick began to stir in a small bit of sugar into his drink, “Old Harold’s finally decided to leave his wife.”_

_“God, that took forever,” she laughed, dragging a rag over a stubborn spot on the counter, “How’s he doin’? Not too broken up, I hope.”_

_Nick only shrugged, “Who knows? He came into work whistling a tune, haven’t seen him this happy in a long while.”_

_“And the kids?”_

_“Aww, they’re all grown up, so I think they’re just gonna have to decide that for themselves. I hear their daughter finally made it into school.”_

_Jennifer winced, “That’s gonna cost a pretty penny after the divorce.”_

_“She got a full-ride-- one of those athletics programs, y’know?”_

_“Damn, should’a done more hockey when I was in school then.”_

_Nick laughed, “You played hockey?”_

_“I got a swing so mean they told me I should’a tried out for the baseball team too!”_

_The detective laughed, eyes never leaving her form even as the pancakes were slid to him, the scent of butter and syrup clouding his senses._

_“Glad to know things are working out for some people somewhere, even with the world burning.”_

_Jennifer laughed as she prepared another order of coffee behind the counter, “You know, my aunties used to tell me that it’s all about perspective.”_

_“Oh yeah?”_

_“World’s going to keep turning no matter how much of it is burning. It’s only bad because it’s bad for us. All the other critters and plants out there are just gonna carry on and not even miss us.”_

_Nick took that first, salivating bite out of that glorious, golden stack. “Sounds grim.”_

_“My Auntie Lila was always a pragmatic little witch.”_

_Their conversations carried on as they always had. Casual, comforting, friendly. Nick didn’t know how much he ought to tell her, how much these conversations meant to him. The job on the force brought him to face horror after horror, each new day a gamble between a case that was as simple as a car being hijacked, to ones where someone loses their baby._

_No, he pushed those thoughts far, far away into the back of his mind._

_“Hey, uh, Jenny, mind if I ask you something?” Nick poked at the remainder on his plate._

_“Sure, hoss, shoot,” she didn’t look up from sliding orders down the counter._

_“I’ve been thinkin’, you know, I’m gettin’ older, and uh, there’s this nice little French bistro downtown that I know about. Great coffee.”_

_“What’s wrong with the coffee here?”_

_“Nothin’! Just that…”_

_“Nick, everything okay?”_

_He sighed, it was now or never. There was never a right time, he remembered someone telling him, only right now._

_“Listen, I know I might be a little old for this, but uh, would you like to get coffee with me, some time?”_

_He watched her expression carefully, the shock in her face, which melted away to reveal one that was flattered. Her smile was warm and sweet, and he could’ve sworn she giggled._

_“Are you asking me out on a date, Nick?”_

_He couldn’t stop himself when he answered, “Yes.”_

_“Well shoot, guess Little Lands still got it,” she laughed, sweet like peals of bells. “Alright, hotshot, you get to take this old hussy out on a date.”_

_Nick could barely believe it. “Well! Uh, wow! How’s--”_

_“Come get me at the end of my shift. Don’t stand me up, hoss.”_

_“Wouldn’t dream of it.”_

* * *

Parker had finally agreed to get some sleep when night was at its darkest. Nick made sure she made it to bed too.

She was stubborn, but Nick figured she must’ve finally lost the bet against her body. “Good,” he told her as she dragged her feet down the hall, “We’re gonna need you in the morning, General.”

She only waved her hands before she kicked the boots off her feet and fell face-first into the old, stained mattress.

It had been a long day for everyone. With the relentless rain and the constant cries for help, it was a miracle the night was as peaceful as it was. Volunteer Minutemen patrolled the streets, the eerie red glow of their laser muskets reflecting the panes of their faces. The rain blurred everything, making everything look like some hazy dream.

He saw the last of the lights and candles blow out from the shelters along the streets. Houses torn down and built back up to fit families together. He smiled at the sight of a mother holding her baby in her arms, still rocking the child to sleep as she dimmed the lights and leaned her head against a still-standing sofa.

Peace, at last. A rare thing in the Commonwealth.

Synths never needed sleep. A computer cursed to stay awake at every moment. But even his aging systems needed to rest. In the corner of the house that they turned into their base of operations, Nick found himself in the battered, old green armchair he had claimed for himself. He had all the intention of tucking his hat down over his eyes, and running some diagnostics, refresh some cached memory--

Until he heard the familiar thunk-thunk-thunk of Power Armor charging down the pavement.

The patrolling Minutemen called out, a quiet commotion soon broke out at the entrance of their settlement. Lights flashed in every way, and Nick heard footsteps race down the wet streets to see what the fuss had been about.

He didn’t waste any time, himself.

Adjusting his hat and tie, Nick Valentine braced the night rain, his optics adjusting to the darkness, trying to make out the figure before the gates.

Paladin Danse had seen better days. The armor on him was battered and bruised, the metal torn and sheared off as though by a fiery blade or a Deathclaw’s swipe.

And in those metal, armored hands, was an unconscious figure, bleeding profusely. Nick jogged up alongside the Paladin, hearing him bark orders at the Minutemen, “We’re requesting medical assistance. My sniper is badly wounded.”

Sniper. His sniper?

Good god.

It was when Danse and the other patrolmen jogged past Nick did he realize who Danse had brought in for help.

Ean Anderson.

“You,” Danse rounded on Nick, “Where’s the medica--”

He didn’t let the Paladin finish before he barked, “Down the street, c’mon!”

The nurse greeted them from behind the counter, eyes still bleary from the few moments of sleep she could muster, “Is everything--”

“This is an emergency, get Jung out here now!”

She sprung into action, turning on lights and equipment as she disappeared into the makeshift center, calling for the doctor.

Nick couldn’t-- wouldn’t-- understand why he had done it, but he memorized every detail of Ean’s injuries. A cut to her head, perhaps? There was blood all over her face, her limbs shaking, cold and weak.

He clasped his hands around hers, much to the verbal annoyance of Paladin Danse, but he ignored him. In the gentlest tone his computerized voice could muster, he told her, “It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart.”

* * *

_What couldn’t Jennifer Lands do? As Nick rolled up to Jim’s Place at the edge of evening, he wasn’t prepared for her._

_She was dressed in a playful, mustard yellow outfit, with bright flowers along the hem. Her heels were modest in height, but it made her calves all the more shapely. Her hair was styled simply, but to Nick, she was the most elegant woman in the entire city._

_“Ready to cut the rug?” She laughed as she stepped into his car, “Or… actually, I don’t speak French, how do they say it?”_

_Nick laughed, “God, you know what, I have no idea!”_

_“Screw it! We’ll just point at the menu and pray it’s not snails or something.”_

_“Sounds like a plan!”_

_The bistro itself was nondescript. If Nick hadn’t walked in there himself after a long night of working cases, he wouldn’t have even known the place existed. It was lively, for what it was worth. As the evening yawned over the Chicago skies, the music only grew more and more upbeat. Jazz music blared out from the musicians on stage, while a singer crooned lovingly into a microphone, singing of her beloved Paris and the image it had left behind._

_Dinner had been a simple affair, breads and cheeses and small platters of roast meat with a variety of sauces. Nothing at all like the stuck-up fare at more polished establishments-- this was the people’s food, hearty and delicious all the same._

_They laughed through the night as the singer doubled as something of a stand-up, flirting with the audience with a bevy of jokes that had Nick red in the face before she took a deep bow, ending her show._

_Despite the world burning outside, for a moment in time, Nick Valentine didn’t feel like a detective working grim cases day in and day out._

_Tonight, he felt like a man. A human. He laughed, he ate, he made merry, but most of all, he loved the company he kept._

_Even with the sweat glistening on their skins, the musicians played out as though their lives depended on it. Nick watched as couples danced in and out of turn on the floor, some young, some old, all of which earned a smile from the grizzled detective._

_“Hey Valentine,” Jennifer winked at him from across the table, “Wanna dance?” She held her hand out for him to take._

_“Do I!”_

_And she burst into laughter so infectious when he took her hand in response. Jennifer Lands was not a woman who stood idly by to wait on life. Tonight, she was more than a pretty waitress at his favorite pancake joint._

_Tonight, she was a woman, lively and young as though the wrinkles creasing with her smile was nothing more than a footnote. She danced with vigor, twirling every which way, letting the fabric of her dress spin haphazardly around her ample thighs._

_Nick Valentine knew he would never forget this night. He couldn’t help himself when he thought of the bombs and wars looming ahead. Forgot about the hungry and the desperate still clawing at the streets in every major city across the country. Forgot about the fires that burned all over the world._

_Tonight, he was in love, he was sure of it._

_As the music slowed to a slow, romantic number, Nick Valentine found himself stepping in time to Jennifer’s moves. Careful, deliberate, but loving all the same. He let his head rest against her shoulders, taking in the too-floral scent of her perfume as they remained on the dancefloor, the eyes of the other patrons on them as they swayed._

* * *

He remembered the song.

The song in the bistro, the song where he held Jennifer’s hands as she swayed along to the music, her age be damned as she twirled in delight.

But here, in the sickeningly green-tinged light of the makeshift hospital, Nick could only register the music as the one way to ground himself to the world. Paladin Danse sat with his arms crossed outside in the waiting area, brows furrowed in impossible anger as he barked orders at staff. “Where is she? What’s her status?”

Man could use a lesson in etiquette.

But those thoughts never held for long, not while he watched over Ean. Her breathing had finally stabilized, her limbs returned to that familiar warmth Nick could only process through numbers in his mind.

Never actually feeling it.

He frowned at the thought. What was he doing?

But still he couldn’t help himself as he helped the doctors clean her wounds up. Helped the nurse change the bloodied water as they did everything to suppress the bleeding and help her get patched up.

As she lay motionless on the bed, Nick tried to fight every single command running through his system. But his one good hand still reached out, and brushed a pesky lock away from her face. He couldn’t help the smile that spread when he saw how, even before battle, she had traces of mascara on her lashes, traces of pigment along her brows.

“Aww, sweetheart,” he whispered, “You went through all that trouble didn’t you?” He brushed a thumb over her cheek, “It’s gonna be alright, I promise.”

As he sat there in vigil, he hummed along to the song on the radio, hoping that it’d soothe her aches, just as it did Nick’s.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments appreciated! ^w^/


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